


Upon a Darkened Night

by Innin



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Background Het, F/F, Femslash, Fluff and Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-17
Updated: 2014-03-17
Packaged: 2018-01-16 03:26:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1330159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Innin/pseuds/Innin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finduilas comes to Lúthien while she is captive in Nargothrond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Upon a Darkened Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Solanaceae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solanaceae/gifts).



> Written for the [2014 Femslash Porn Battle](http://femslash-today.livejournal.com/589698.html), for the prompt "Finduilas/Lúthien, lonely". The title is from Loreena McKennitt's _The Dark Night of the Soul_.

The chains on her wrists rattled when Lúthien flung her arms around Finduilas and pulled her close onto the narrow cot. The links of cold iron dragged down Finduilas' back, and even through the fabric of her dress the sensation made her shudder against Lúthien's body.

"I do not understand how you can endure day after day here," Finduilas said, and made a gesture into the dark of the cell, one of warding and denial against the gathering night that poured in through the barred skylight high above. 

"You know that your visits ease my lot," said Lúthien quietly. She had coped ill with being kept in confinement and away from her Beren – Finduilas was almost tempted to say that she had _wilted_ , more like a flower deprived of water than a person - but lately she had begun to turn to Finduilas, and seemed to recover little by little. It kindled a spark that had in the beginning been curiosity and gentle pity into something hot and bright and near-painful in Finduilas' breast that defied the attempts to grasp or describe it, until she realized that she loved Lúthien. Loved her unearthly beauty, the glitter of stars at dusk in her eyes, the clipped hair that was just the right length to tickle the space between her fingers and make her choke on a laugh, the way light seemed to attach itself to Lúthien even in her stained gown, but most of all her gentleness when she so easily could be otherwise. 

Lúthien, as the visit after her realization revealed, had not been unaware of the feelings Finduilas harboured.

"But you love your Beren, do you not?" Wide-eyed in the dark Finduilas had felt stripped bare under the piercing glance of Lúthien's eyes until they softened and she looked away, and her face was cast into shadow. 

"And you love Gwindor, you said so with more than merely words. But do you not think that even with our hearts given to them, that there may be other loves, as Arien warms her other worlds, each in its measure and particular way?" 

"I am no astronomer – nor philosopher," said Finduilas tonelessly. "And I would not wish to deprive... either of you of what I can give, but neither would I wish to be unfaithful..." 

To Finduilas' surprise, Lúthien had smiled. "Unfaithful, because you are a person of your own? Loving someone ought not be entering into servitude, Finduilas. We may be taught to call the men we love "lord" and be subject to their whims, but with love... also comes freedom and trust to return. Or do you not think that Gwindor will do as his duty dictates him even when you are wedded, leaving you lonely at times, and fearing for him when he rides into battle?" 

"But that is the right of -"

"- men, yes. But yours, also. You have the right to do as you will and love as you wish, though your father should send away your lover and imprison you – you have the right to escape and do as you must, and - " 

And emboldened, Finduilas had kissed her in the dark, Lúthien's face between her hands and her cheekbones under her palms, Lúthien's hair tickling her fingers, and then she had fled from the tingle on her lips and her own courage, and slammed the cell door shut. It had taken her two nights to return, and now Lúthien had pulled her close with a strength slightly more than there ought to be.

"I am here, I am here," Finduilas whispered, with Lúthien's arms around her and the chains down her back, and Lúthien's face pressed into her hair, so different and vulnerable and seeming so much younger than at the time of the kiss, when Finduilas had been keenly aware that she was speaking with – and then kissing – a woman who had known the world before the first sunrise.

"I was afraid you would not return," said Lúthien, and her lips moved against Finduilas' skin in a way that sent tremors through her. "It would have been your right, but I would have been very lonely. I am glad that you came." 

"I could not have stayed away, not after... my thoughts bent on you more and more. Gwindor claimed I seemed absent, and I have never been so glad that he will not question when my thoughts are closed to him," she admitted. "It is not honourable, and perhaps I ought to persist..."

"... and make yourself unhappy. No, I am twice glad you came now, not only because it will ease my loneliness, but because I am willing to grant your desire." 

Finduilas felt it hard to breathe for the half-second that it took Lúthien to turn and kiss her fully and gently, and then her world narrowed to taste, to smell, to sensation, to heat where Lúthien's lips pressed into her skin, whispered a word of Command for her shackles to fall open. 

Even no longer trapped by the chains that Lúthien had dragged over her, Finduilas remained where she was, ducking her head and following when Lúthien's hips rose so she could pull her dress up and tug the breechcloth aside, first with her hand, remembering how hesitantly Gwindor had touched her, and how much she wished for more. She kissed down over Lúthien's stomach, lingered for a moment with an ear pressed to her ribs, the hammering of Lúthien's heart and the rush of breath beneath, and marvelled – then further down, and a fold of the dress slipping over her head and casting everything into blue as her finger followed the trail of downy black hair below her navel, and her lips brushed over the darker curls only a little further down. 

A tentative lick - _that_ Gwindor had never done – made Lúthien moan, the sound like a stutter of stars, and then Lúthien's gentle hands pulled her up by her shoulders. Perhaps she had noticed Finduilas' inexperience, a thought that made her face burn, but Lúthien lifted her head to kiss her again and rested a cool palm on her cheek. 

"Do you wish to continue?" Lúthien asked against her lips when the kiss ended, grey eyes still gently half-lidded. "There are... other ways to sate ourselves than only hands and lips," and Finduilas had nodded wordlessly in vague expectation, and breathed, " _yes_. Show me."

And Lúthien had, pulling her against her and fumbling until Finduilas felt the cool air of the cell against her skin, her dress flung aside, settled between Lúthien's thighs. They began to move against one another slowly. The friction of Lúthien's skin, her lips, the sole knowledge of what they were doing, left Finduilas breathless and tense with anticipation and sensation that more and more began to tighten into a burn of pleasure within her, the swell of Lúthien's breasts against her chest, lips trailing, until Lúthien lifted her eyes and brought a hand between their bodies. Finduilas stilled, teeth sinking into her lower lip, waiting. 

Then Lúthien's fingers curled and crooked, a beckoning motion, and Finduilas' body obeyed, arching, heat and pleasure like a sun-burst through her, rising, ebbing and slowly abating into boneless content. Lúthien's arms were around her again, stroking down her mussed hair and down her back, murmuring something that might be nightingale-song rather than words, for all the sense it made, before drifting into satisfied silence herself. Finduilas smiled, and closed her eyes in the warm darkness, marvelling how far loneliness had fled from her mind from the moment. She must have dozed, even slept, waking to Lúthien's arm flung over her while she slept, and half-shadows gathering in the corners of the cell. 

She nuzzled through Lúthien's hair, waking her. 

"The sky is lightening. It must be close to dawn. I must return to my rooms before they find me missing – and before your change of guards comes," Finduilas said sadly, and against Lúthien's reluctance, rose, dressing in the clothes that lay scattered over the floor. She stepped close to the bed again, letting her hand linger, for a moment torn between wanting to remain, and stealing away before the guards came and Huan would try and drive them away as he had the night's shift. 

"I... I cannot bear to see you confined any longer," Finduilas murmured. "I could not before, but now – even less. Promise me you shall try and flee. Promise."

Lúthien nodded, and turned away.


End file.
